Hermione's Wounds: Reopened
by RavenAmeraDreams
Summary: Summary: Hermione falls into a dark new habit to deal with her pain. Will her friends be able to save her, or is her world as dark as it seems? Warnings: sensitive topics/issues. Revised version of my first fanfic - Hermione's Wounds.


**Chapter 1: Recognition**

As per usual, one could find the 'Golden Trio' sitting near the fire in their three most favorite armchairs a week into the term of their seventh year. The boys already seemed to be slacking off of their homework; already they were playing a fierce game of wizards' chess while Hermione indulged herself in a book, curled up into a ball on the couch next to their table. She only stopped reading every so often to scold the two for not yet starting on their homework. "You know, it only took me thirty minutes to write the essay for Professor Snape, and I already mastered the spell that Professor Flitwick taught us."

"Then we have high hopes of doing the same the night before it's all due. It'll only take us twice the time it took you, so we'll be fine," Ron replied smartly, not taking his eyes off the chess board while Harry egged on his knight.

Harry nodded fervently in agreement, too preoccupied with the goings-on of the game to give a vocal reply. "Come on!" he seethed to his knight. Hermione sighed exasperatedly and stood as Harry cried in anguish, "Merlin! It was just a pawn!" as his knight was swept off the board.

"Well, I suppose I'll rest for a bit before dinner," she yawned exaggeratedly and eyed them cautiously, in hopes that they did not catch her lie. As usual, they noticed nothing out of the ordinary and just nodded.

"Don't worry, mate, we'll wait for you," Ron said, still not bothering to look up at Hermione's face. Harry glanced up and nodded quickly before turning back to the chess board.

Hermione sighed, closed her book and trudged toward the stairs. Her smile turned to a frown as she dropped her façade of contentedness once she was out of sight of the boys. She walked the stairs to the topmost room and made sure to plaster another fake smile onto her face before opening the door and tottering into her dorm.

"Hi Lavender, Parvati, Morgan," she nodded to the three other seventh year Gryffindor girls. "I'm going to rest a bit before dinner, I'll put a silencing charm around my bed, so don't worry about being loud or anything.

"Alright, Hermione, sleep well," Lavender smiled and replied good-naturedly. Hermione smiled—falsely—a bit bigger at Lavender's kind words before crawling through the hangings around her bed.

"_Silencio,_" She whispered, holding out her wand. Sure that the charm had worked, she let herself fall back into her blankets and pillows with a long sigh. _Why did they not notice? Why does _no one _notice? Can they not see it? Can they not see how heavy my heart is? Well, if not... I'm not going to make it obvious. That would just be ridiculous. If the mask fits, I'll continue to wear it. _She rolled over on her side with another long sigh; a solitary tear moved down her cheek.

Sighing sadly once more, she turned over on her back feeling restless. She stared up at the canopy of her bed. _Red, so red._ _Almost…like…blood. It's sort of pretty…_She was trying desperately, though in vain, to distract her mind from the impending thoughts.

Hermione felt the wetness pool at the bottoms of her eyelids, and in an attempt to ignore the stabbing pain over her heart, she took in a rattling breath, which only seemed to make it worse. Trying to compose herself, she sat up and positioned herself with her knees tucked under her, while hastily wiping the tears from her eyes, but nothing she did could stem the constant, salty stream of sadness that showed itself on her glistening cheeks. To distract her mind, she pulled a picture album from the small shelf which sat between her headboard and the top of her canopy. She opened it cautiously, knowing its contents might make things worse, but feeling unable to stop herself. The album fell open to the first page, and she held back a hiccup as she stared at the pictures of her family and friends.

The inside cover of the album: She with Harry, Ron, and Ginny at the Burrow. A turn of the page: a Muggle photo of her parents in France. The next page: Viktor Krum, her first boyfriend, waving to her from the icy snow caps in Bulgaria. The next page: Her grandparents in their kitchen on Christmas morning; smiling widely in their matching knit scarves. Hermione let out a gasping shudder and tore her eyes away from the page as a fresh wave of tears ran down her face. Trying to steady her breathing she averted her eyes to her canopy once again and squeezed them shut. "Nana... Grandpa..." she whispered hoarsely before losing herself to her thoughts. _They'll never smile again. And it's my fault!_ Overwhelmed with the stinging emotions, Hermione crumpled, face-first, into her pillows and began to sob heavily, thankful for the silencing charm she had used earlier.

As she cried, her mental walls crumbled, allowing thoughts of her summer to slowly seep into her mind, filling it with an even thicker fog of melancholy than had riddled it before. The hurt, the pain. She had been keeping it all smothered inside for so long that the pressure had become too much, and the dam suddenly burst forward in a torrential flood of memories and tearing realizations. She hugged her pillows close, grasping desperately for stability, as her sobbing become heavier by the moment; the soft, silky cloth soon became soaked in salty tears as she lost her resolve and stopped fighting. Instead she allowed the darkened thoughts to consume her, too exhausted to hold them at bay any longer.

* * *

(_two_ _weeks into summer_)

**"Hermione****?****"** **The** **young witch heard her mother's muffled tones from the other side of her bedroom door as she worked a comb through her hair after her refreshing morning shower.**

**"Yes, Mother?" Hermione inquired politely, noting the serious strain of her mother's voice that was apparent even through the thick mahogany of the door.**

**"Your father and I would like a word with you down in the kitchen****.****" ****A** **barely audible sigh followed before the middle-aged woman continued. Hermione could almost see the exhausted look on her mother's face and felt a pang of sadness; she wasn't sure what the cause of her mother's stress was lately, but she hadn't failed to notice that it seemed to be ever-growing, as was made obvious through the ****thickening** **age lines on the older beauty's face. "Please do hurry, dear, as your father and I have to be at the office in an hour."**

**"Yes, Mother, I'll be down there soon****.****" Hermione heard the soft footsteps of her mother retreating and padding down the stairs as she quickly finished combing her hair before straightening her clothes and opening her bedroom door. If the ****tension** **in the house hadn't been apparent a moment before, the newly seventeen-year-old witch felt it immensely when she walked through the door of her kitchen. Feeling slightly awkward, she slowed her pace before taking a seat at the table across from her parents****,** **who had been whispering in hushed tones just before they looked up and saw her in the doorway.**

**The last time she had seen them whispering in such a manner was when she was eleven and had just received her letter of acceptance from Hogwarts; the only difference being that when they turned to her then****,** **they'd had smiles on her faces. Now their expressions seemed the epitome of grave, and it only caused the unease in Hermione's chest to grow erratically. "Mother... Father... is something the matter?" the girl questioned hesitantly, not sure if she was ready for the answer.**

**Her mother tried, in vain, to plaster a reassuring smile across her features****,** **but it faltered heavily before she turned to her husband****,** **who squeezed her hand and took the reins. "Hermione, your mother and I want to remind you that we love you very much, and what we're about to tell you doesn't change that at all."**

**Hermione's brow knitted in confusion, not sure what to think of her father's statement or the eerily calm way in which he had said it****.** **"I know that, but wha-?"**

**She was cut off as her mother turned to her again and finished what her father had begun, "Hermione, darling, we've thought this over and feel it's best that you know the truth..." The woman took in a shaky breath which caused the lines on the aging beauty's face to tighten, "You see, Hermione... you're... you're not really our daughter. You're..." Again her husband squeezed her hand reassuringly, though not taking his eyes off of his daughter****.** **"You're adopted, honey."**

* * *

Hermione broke herself out of her reverie, abruptly ending her flashback before allowing herself to travel down a darker road. But it was too late... _Why didn't they tell me sooner? Why did they just sit there and stare at me? Why didn't they say anything? WHY?! Am I so useless that my biological parents didn't love me? Am I so worthless that I am so easily tossed aside? If they could so easily abandon me, what stops anyone else from doing so? Am I incapable of being loved? _Hermione hadn't heard from her parents since that day as she had fled the scene to stay with her grandparents for the remainder of the that fact only caused her to quickly shove her head into the heap of sopping pillows in front of her; a relentless sob threatened to escape her throat as the memories once again overtook her shaking, frail form.

* * *

(_just_ _moments after the kitchen conversation_)

**Panic had seized the girl, and she gripped the chair in which she sat so hard that her knuckles turned sheet white, the skin almost threatening to split. Her parents silently stood, and with wary glances approached her, but she stood abruptly and shook her head solemnly, still struggling to accept what they had said. Slowly she turned away from them and climbed the stairs to her room****,** **where she sat in front of her mirror and picked up her comb****,** **running it mechanically through her hair until she heard the muffled thud of the front door closing, followed by the far-away sound of her parents' transmission turning over. She set the comb down and listened intently as the car grew farther away****,** **and****,** **then... silence.**

**Hermione was never sure how long she sat there, still dumbfounded, staring at nothing in particular, but after a while the young witch packed most of her belongings into her Hogwarts trunk and put Crookshanks** **into his pet carrier. Giving her room one last look, to make sure she had everything she needed, the witch closed her eyes and Apparated** **before the tears in them** **even had time to fall.**

**Now of age, she was able to use magic freely ****and** **without consequence from the Ministry, but she still didn't forget the statute concerning magic around Muggles. So she was careful to focus on a lightly wooded area into which she could safely Apparate; sure that no one was around, the young witch slowly emerged from the trees, trunk in one hand and Crookshanks** **safely in his carrier in the other. She had cast a lightening charm on her trunk to make it possible for her to carry it with ease while her wand was securely hidden up her sleeve. A few blocks later and she had arrived at the front stoop of her ****grandparents'** **house. Hesitantly, still unsure of what she was doing, Hermione rang the doorbell and waited with bated breath.**

**Relief rushed through her, and she released the air she'd been holding in her lungs, when her grandmother's smiling face revealed itself on the other side of the door. Immediately, the ****greying** **woman's arms opened widely to accept her favorite, and only, grandchild into a warm embrace. While the two hugged, Hermione's cheerful grandfather appeared next to them and gladly opened his arms to her as well.**

* * *

(_last_ _week of August_)

**Her summer at her grandparents' was simple and uneventful, for the most part. Hermione would relax for most of the day,** **curled up on the patio or day room sofa with a good book when she wasn't down at the neighborhood park selling snow cones and ice cream bars from a small mobile vendor. Every Saturday night****,** **she and her grandparents would drive into London to have dinner at a nice family restaurant not far from the Leaky Cauldron. Sometimes they would go to a movie and allow her to wander around by herself** **for a few hours; hours which she would always spend perusing the shops of Diagon** **Alley.**

**They knew not of the magical blood which flowed through her veins, but Hermione was almost certain that if they had known****,** **it would not mean much of anything to them. They would love her just the same. Smiling at the thought, happy that it was a Saturday, Hermione started to close shop as the sun began its slow descent in the Western sky. ****After receiving her final paycheck, she stepped out of the small white vendor ****and turned to walk back to her grandparents' home****. From the corner of her eye, she noticed** **she was being approached by an old schoolmate from primary school.**

**The boy's name was Christopher Gotts****,** **and he had obviously grown. He now stood over six feet, possibly taller than even Ron or Malfoy, and reminded her of Goyle, as his form consisted mainly of hulking muscle. Hermione had seen him around the park on occasion, much to her chagrin, as he always seemed at least partially intoxicated by something or other. But, until now, he'd had yet to approach or even acknowledge her. She tried to pretend she hadn't seen him coming near and continued along her way, staring at each and every detail along the darkening, tree-lined, dirt pathway. The ever-observant witch cringed when she realized his footsteps behind her had yet to stop and was about to turn and get the conversation over with when she felt his hand enclose her small wrist.**

**With a small, surprised gasp she turned to face him and tried to act calm but could not help to notice the way his eyes appeared bloodshot as they stared down at her ****broodingly****. He gave her a crooked smirk****,** **which she assumed was supposed to be a smile; the dwarfed girl had to concentrate desperately to avoid grimacing. Instead she flashed a delicate, nervous smile****,** **which apparently gave him just the confidence he needed to slur out, "Wan'a** **come on a date wi' me t'night, 'Ermione?"**

**Needless to say, she was utterly shocked by his proposition. The two hadn't quite been on the best of terms when in primary school****,** **and he hadn't said a word to her at all this summer before now. If possible, however, she was even more so surprised by the very obvious stench of liquor on his breath. She fought her instincts hard to avoid wrinkling her nose in disgust and opted for a regretful smile****.** **"I'm sorry,** **Christopher, but I already have plans."**

**"Plans?** **Yeah, right. With who?" ****he** **asked abrasively, apparently put off by her rejection, as his hold on her wrist tightened and he stepped forward in a menacing manner.**

**Slightly taken aback by his aggression, she stammered, "I - I promised my grandparents... You see, we go out ****every** **Satu-"**

**But he silenced her quickly by pushing her into a tree and closing the distance between them, sloppily pushing his lips on hers. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as she gasped, completely stunned. The drunken boy took this as an invitation and shoved his tongue into her mouth so fiercely she thought she tasted blood; she coughed and spluttered so viciously the bloke had no choice but to back off for a moment.**

**Thankful for the moment to think clearly, she side-stepped him so that she was no longer pinned between him and the tree, her hands raised defensively in front of her chest. She stood for a moment, gasping rapidly trying to regain a stable breathing pattern while composing her thoughts, but they were interrupted by his low voice near her ear, "Sure y' still wan'a** **go wi' those old crones?"**

**Finally registering the situation, anger welled up inside her tiny chest****,** **and she glared up at him vehemently. With all the strength she could muster, Hermione pushed him roughly away from herself with both arms****.** **"You insolent git! If there were any chance that I had even **_**considered**_ **accepting your offer, it's completely out the window now!" The gruff boy looked like he was about to protest, a fire flashing from behind his bloodshot eyes****.** **"And don't you dare come near me again, or you will sorely regret it!"**

**She fingered the wand, hidden in the inside pocket of her light jacket, carefully as she retreated backwards, never taking her glaring eyes off of his frozen form. Once she felt she was at a safe enough distance to do so, Hermione turned and broke into a run and didn't stop until she reached the front of her grandparents' house. She was almost an hour later than normal and hoped they weren't worried. Clutching her side due to the stitch it acquired from running, she ran a tentative hand over her swollen and bruised lips. Anger rose again as she thought of what had happened, but she quickly squashed it down.**

**Warily looking around the neighborhood to make sure no one was near,** **she moved into the shadows of her grandmother's garden and cast a few glamour charms on herself to hide the evidence of what had occurred only moments before. Satisfied that her appearance and demeanor would not cause her grandparents****'** **any alarm, Hermione pocketed her wand and approached the door confidently.**

* * *

(_later_ _that evening_)

**After a hearty dinner at their favorite restaurant, the three climbed back into her grandfather's old Buick and continued their discussion from the restaurant. In only a few days, Hermione would be leaving them to return to school****,** **and they were making plans to take her to King's Cross Station. The drive back was a good 45 minutes on the main motorway****,** **which allowed Hermione to sleepily settle back into her seat as her grandparents' conversation continued in the front.**

**Feeling exhausted from the day's events, the young witch** **allowed her eyes to drift closed. ****T****hey seemed to have been closed for only a moment when she heard the frightened screams pierce the air. Reminded horrifically of the final battle with Voldemort, Hermione assumed she had been having a nightmare. When her eyes shot open, however, she wished that her assumption were only true.**

**The bright headlights of a large Ford was closing in on them****,** **and despite her grandfather's attempts to swerve out of the other automobile's way, it was too late. Hermione watched with terror as everything seemed to move in slow-motion. The other car hit them from an angle, causing the front end to crumple towards her grandfather first. The Buick was an older model and therefore contained no air bags; her grandparents****'** **were jolted into the dashboard****,** **and that was all Hermione saw before everything sped up to normal speed. She felt her own head hit something hard****,** **and then all was black.**

* * *

(_after_ _the crash_)

**The next few days had passed in a blur. She was in a Muggle** **hospital when the police told her that the highly intoxicated man** **who had caused the accident, Christopher Gotts, was to be on trial for two counts of vehicular manslaughter. She was in a Muggle** **hospital when the doctors told her they had done everything they could, but were unable to save her grandparents. As with the news of her adoption, Hermione merely stared, without thinking, for an eternity.**

* * *

(_the_ _day of the funeral_)

**Not knowing how, but not questioning it, she suddenly found herself at their funeral, tears running down her face. A wrinkled hand touched her shoulder lightly****,** **and Dumbledore led her away from the scene while the caskets were being lowered into the cold, unfeeling earth. The sky was cloudy and grey.**

* * *

Hermione barely remembered how she was able to block out the memories and step onto the Hogwarts express the next morning, but she suspected it was Dumbledore's doing. The pumpkin juice he'd given her that morning must have contained a Calming Drought or a Cheering Potion of some sort. Maybe a mixture of both. But whatever it was that had kept her feelings at bay that morning was unattainable now, and her heart wrenched tightly in her chest once again. _In the end, everyone leaves. In the end, I'll only have myself__,_ she thought drearily, gasping for air while clutching her throbbing head.

Crying had always done that to her; given her headaches. In a futile attempt to recover, Hermione again took to staring at her canopy. _At least I have Hogwarts..._ A wavering smile graced her features before she let that, too, fall. _No, I don't. This is my last year here. After this, no one will be around at all times. They won't be forced to keep contact with me, so they'll probably forget about me. Not even Ron and Harry are guaranteed to stay in touch. I've always held them back; I've been too hard on them. They'll be happy to have the bossy know-it-all out of their hair. Oh, Harry..._

She hugged her pillow a little more tightly to her chest as the Boy-Who-Lived overtook her thoughts. _If only he could see how I feel... If only -- No, Hermione! He'll never see you like that. You two are destined to be just friends. He likes the pretty, athletic girls. Not the ugly bookworms. He's kind, and handsome, but way out of your league, so stop wishing... it'll only put a strain on your friendship. Stop being so selfish! Look where it's gotten you so far! _She angrily gritted her teeth and punched the pillow in her lap, following with a fierce pulling on her hair from both sides, but doing so only made the full force of her headache sear forward once more.

Desperate to relieve the throbbing pain pulsing between her temples, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and reached her hand to the shelf above her headboard once again. She knew she had some aspirin, or even a small vial of Headache Draught hidden somewhere around here. If she were to make it through dinner, which was fast approaching, she knew she'd definitely need some. After finally clasping her hand around the smooth vial containing the draught for which she'd been looking, she opened her eyes and quickly retracted her hand from the shelf, tube in hand, not taking notice of what she knocked off of it in the process.

In a hurry to feel the relieving effects of the potion, she uncorked the capsule and took a small sip. The effects were almost instantaneous, dulling the pain in her head tremendously within seconds. She recapped the vial and put it back in its place on the shelf just before she realized that, now that her headache had gone, the pain in her chest had returned with a vengeance. Hermione could almost feel her heart breaking from the painful burdens she bore and let her head droop to her chest, too tired to fight the tears that had started to form again.

Wiping her bleary eyes, Hermione opened them to notice her Muggle razor sitting just in front of her knees. It was a bladed tool she used to shave her legs, preferring old Muggle methods to the detested scouring charm most of her classmates resorting to using. Perplexed by its presence, she picked it up carefully, eying it cautiously as though it were hexed. She scoffed at herself for being so silly, realizing it had merely fallen from the shelf when she was searching for the potion, and tossed it away from herself. _Just plain silly._ _First you throw a smashing pity party for yourself, and then you act like a razor has suddenly become animated...Just... stupid. Foolish._ _Idiot._

Allowing herself to crumple into a heap on her pillows once more, Hermione found it impossible to distract herself. No matter what she did, her thoughts would always circle back to the same things... summer break and all the pain it caused, along with her own stupidity. If she wasn't mourning her grandparents, or her broken relationship with her parents, she'd spend her time thinking of new insults to throw at herself. She could put Malfoy to shame with some of her more creative ones. She'd tried reading to occupy her mind, but there were only so many times that she could read through the course materials before she wasn't quite reading it any longer. Hermione had hoped that being around her friends, and being back at school, would help, but it had done little. Her pain and hateful thoughts were only dulled when in the presence of others, and they would always return full-force, if not more so, when she found herself alone again.

Quivering all over from the dry sobs now escaping her lips, she shakily reached a hand up to wipe her eyes once more, the stinging sensation growing in them again. The razor sitting innocently on her red, _blood red_, bedsheets caught her eye once more, and she hesitantly grasped it in her palm once more. Examining it closely, she began to finger the plastic around the blade slowly. Without thinking of what she was doing, the witch began peeling the flimsy plastic carefully away from the three thin blades it surrounded. Soon thereafter, only one blade was captured between her thumb and index finger, and she stared at it curiously. The remaining blades and handle pieces had been forgotten, lying discarded on the shelf next to her photo album.

Hermione felt numb. Spent from crying for so long, exhausted from recalling all of the painful memories of summer, she just wanted to feel alive again. For some reason, she felt a low thrumming begin in the tips of her fingers which were touching the blade; a thrumming which gradually travelled to her heart. Moments later, the witch's eyes widened as she realized what she had done. She couldn't recall lifting her sleeve; even less could she remember moving the blade to her skin and slicing it twice over her pale, exposed wrist. But she could clearly feel the rapid beating of her heart; it resembled the pain she had been feeling there earlier, but the sensation of it thumping so rapidly against her ribcage was oddly relieving.

She was brought back from her thoughts as she felt the warm blood from her cuts trickle slowly out from within. In moments, the numb feeling had returned to her mind, and Hermione stared at her arm as though she were a curious bystander and not as though the seared flesh actually belonged to her. As she felt the insults surfacing to scold her for the act in her head, Hermione did the only thing she could to silence them and pressed the cold blade to her hot flesh once again. Her wrist was her canvas, the blade her brush, and she was determined to create a masterpiece; a piece of art which would express everything she couldn't say. A piece of art which would allow her to let go of the burden on her heart and mind so that she could go back to enjoying her life with her friends. But before she could paint the next stroke in her work, the hangings to her four-poster slid open beside her.

Her fear-stricken eyes turned to meet Lavender's, whose shown brightly. "Oh! Hermione, you're awake! Good, I was just about to--" The blonde cut herself off and stared in shock at Hermione's openly bleeding wrist, mouth opening and closing repeatedly.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: _Unfortunately, just like almost every other person in this world, I do not own the Harry Potter series, movies, characters, plots, or anything. The amazing and talented J.K. Rowling does. I do, however, own the plot of Hermione's Wounds and would thank you kindly were you not to steal it. If you see this anywhere else on the Internet, please let me know since it is most likely not the original, or not there by my consent. (Unless written by 'Spooty' at harrypotterfanfiction.)_


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